‘Bondi,’ he said, saying it like every American I ever met: Bondee. ‘You must miss it.’

‘Days like today, what I wouldn’t give.’

‘Well, I can’t help you with an ocean today, but we’ll go to the beach soon. It’ll be nothing like you’re used to; still cools you off though. Meanwhile, I’ve got good news.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I’ve been offered a desk job with the navy here in DC. So I was thinking I’d move here, rent a place, get to see more of you. How’s that sound?’

He looked up from where he lay in the grass, sprawled, grinning up at me. I leaned down and kissed him, and his lips were salty against mine. Almost as if he’d been swimming in the sea.

•

After he moved to DC we saw each other daily, meeting for lunch if I was working or for dinner or a movie if I was off. We got to know things about each other—how he got short-tempered if he didn’t eat regularly, how I didn’t like queues or crowds. We drove up to Ocean City before the summer ended. I tried to hide my disappointment at the beach. It was enough, I told myself, to walk arm in arm along the boardwalk with Jim, eating ice-creams, feeling the sea water dry tight on my skin. The waves were not the kind you can catch but we swam anyway, and he wrapped his arms around my legs beneath the water, lifting me up like a child, laughing. With the ocean hiding our bodies I felt free of my self-consciousness, unhinged with glee. I darted around him, I slid my hand in the waistband of his swim trunks, feeling the smooth skin ridged by elastic. He kissed me and pulled me under, and I opened my eyes in the green light, his face before me, bubbles rising from his mouth as he said words I didn’t catch. I didn’t need to. I understood him; I felt understood.